“You know where the word assassin came from, right?” Mathias asked, lighting a smoke. “A group of Persian militants would get high on hashish before going out and killing their enemies. They were called hashashin.”

The listener, Mathias’s PM Super Magnum rifle, didn’t respond.

Mathias turned to the window and pulled the blind up slowly. He eased the barrel of the Super Magnum out into the open.

Sound, smell and touch were his allies. He heard the rumbling engine of the limousine pull up in front of the hotel across the street. Doors opened and large men stepped onto the sidewalk, low voices rumbled as pedestrians were told to stand back. Another door opened, accompanied by a low, conversation. Yes, it was clear, sir. You can step out of the car, sir. A lighter shuffle, expensive shoes on concrete, a quiet grunt of discomfort.

Mathias fired. Explosion of sound and force. Blood spatter. A body hitting the ground. Shouts. The general was dead.

Or so, Mathias was pretty sure. He was blind, after all.